Almost instantly, I regretted telling Heather and Farley about my little problem.
I’d told them as we drained the last champagne after the opening of Farley’s latest show at the gallery. I’d lingered to help clean up, although my version of helping was less than… helpful. I followed Heather around as she loaded dishes and food trays into the caterer’s buckets.
“Angeline,” she’d said. “You really need to kick this funk.”
Like she was telling me anything I didn’t know?
“So, you and Peyton didn’t work out. So what? You’re gorgeous,” she said, waving a hand toward my body. “And model-slim. You can find another boyfriend.”
I must have grimaced, because she halted and put the tray down on a table. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m… I mean, Peyton was great. Up for anything… but I have this little issue that seems to put men off... once they figure it out.”
Heather gathered my hands in hers and pulled to me sofa in the middle of the gallery. The lights were lowered; Coltrane still played softly in the background.
Maybe it was because she still held my hands that I decided to confide. “I’ve never had an orgasm. I made the mistake of telling him. After that…” I shrugged. “He made it his mission to give me one, and even though I tried to pretend, in the end, he didn’t feel like a man—or at least, that was his excuse…”
“He cheated on you?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Yeah. To prove the problem wasn’t him. It’s me.” I sniffed and raised my chin.
“Oh, you poor baby.” She pulled me into a hug. “I had no idea.”
I sniffed again, liking the scent of her perfume. My own mother hadn’t been as maternal as my friend, Heather, so it was a luxury to relax against her curves. My own mother would have thought my little problem was insignificant when juxtaposed against everything else a match with Peyton would have offered. She’d have called me a spoiled brat and told me to pull up my big girl panties. Orgasms wouldn’t provide me the lifestyle I was accustomed to. And most days, I would have agreed with her. However, this night, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. Unaccountably lonely.
Poor little lonely rich girl. How cliché.
“I know I’m being silly.” I pulled back and gave her a rueful smile. “And you’re right. I can find another man—a doctor next, I think. Someone in plastics who can maintain this figure and face so that when he dumps me because I’ve emasculated him, I can find my next sugar daddy.” I laughed, but she shook her head, not buying my attempt to make light of my pain.
“Wait here. I know there’s another bottle.” Heather patted my thighs, her hands warm against the bare expanse of my skin.
I sighed and leaned against the plush upholstery. I must have dozed because I didn’t know I wasn’t alone until a cool glass slid into my hand. I sat up and gave Farley a smile. “Thanks. Just one, though. I’ll have to go home soon.”
“Nonsense,” Farley said, his gaze too penetrating as he swept my body.
I frowned. “She told you.”
“She did. But we have a plan—if you’re game.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to date one of your artists. They smell like turpentine!”
“We wouldn’t do that. They’re selfish bastards.” He grinned. “We have another proposition…”
And that was how I ended up here, although it had taken another bottle of champagne to ease me past my inhibitions and bring out the party girl.
Heather knew me so well.
Farley’s head was positioned over my pussy, and he made another swipe of his tongue along my slit. “You were so right, Heather. She’s delicious.”
Heather giggled behind me. My back leaned against her naked front, her heavy breasts like warm pillows. Her fingers played with my nipples, toggling then pinching them. She gave one a pull. “Anything?”
His tongue stroked my clit, and I did feel a stirring of arousal, but the pleasure only lasted
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